oom, to Karen's apartment
where the table was bountifully spread and Mrs. Nettley and
Karen awaited her coming. Elizabeth silently sat down.

"Ain't he comin'?" said Karen.

"No -- I am very sorry -- Mr. Landholm thinks he must finish
what he is about first."

"He has lots o' _thoughts_," said Karen discontentedly, -- "he'd
think just as well after eatin'. -- Well, Miss -- Karen's done
her best -- There's been worse chickens than those be -- Mis'
Landholm used to cook 'em that way, and she didn't cook 'em no
better. I s'pose he'll eat some by'm by -- when he's done
thinkin'."

She went off, and Elizabeth was punctually and silently taken
care of by Mrs. Nettley. The meal over, she did not go back to
her own premises; but took a stand in the open kitchen door,
for a variety of reasons, and stood there, looking alternately
out and in. The sun had set, the darkness was slowly
gathering; soft purple clouds floated up from the west, over
Wut-a-qut-o's head, which however the nearer heads of pines
and cedars prevented her seeing. A delicate fringe of
evergreen foliage edged upon the clear white sky. The fresher
evening air breathed through the pine and cedar branches,
hardly stirred their stiff leaves, but brought from them
tokens of rare sweetness; brought them to Elizabeth's
sorrowful face, and passed on. Elizabeth turned her face from
the wind and looked into the house. Karen had made her
appearance again, and was diligently taking away broken meats
and soiled dishes and refreshing the look of the table;
setting some things to warm and some things to cool; giving
the spare plate and knife and fork the advantage of the best
place at table; brushing away crumbs, and smoothing down the
salt-cellar. "You _are_ over particular!" thought Elizabeth; --
"it would do him no harm to come after me in handling the
salt-spoon! -- that even that trace of me should be removed."
She looked out again.

Her friend the locust now and then was reminding her of the
long hot day they had passed through together; and the
intervals between were filled up by a chorus of grasshoppers
and crickets and katydids. Soft and sweet blew the west wind
again; _that_ spoke not of the bygone day, with its burden and
heat; but of rest, and repose, and the change that cometh even
to sorrowful things. The day was passed and gone. "But if one
day is passed, another is coming," -- thought Elizabeth; and
tears, hot and bitter tears, sprang to her eyes. H